


Giving Back the Sweater

by paranoiapersonified



Category: Regular Show
Genre: Angst, F/M, Human AU, Romance, Sorta sad, but not horribly, i guess, not sure what else to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4556865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoiapersonified/pseuds/paranoiapersonified
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margaret notices Mordecai before he can leave.</p><p>An alternate ending to Laundry Woes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giving Back the Sweater

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this way back when the episode actually aired. I sort of lost interest in the show about six months ago, and haven't been keeping up with new developments, but I found this document half written, so I decided to finish it. 
> 
> This is a human au where things are a bit more ... adult? I guess? So instead of just asking Margaret to be his girlfriend, Mordecai actually proposed to her. Also, instead of just kicking Rigby out of a car and leaving his fucking stranded in the middle of nowhere, they got a motel around 5am and and had the same fight there.

"Mordecai!"

"Oh, hey, Margaret!" Oh god, how lame can you be. _Oh, hey, I just drove 20 hours, and was actually about to just turn around and drive 20 more, funny seeing you here._ Smooth.

"Wha-what are you doing here?!"

She runs to you and hugs you, and the warmth, the caring, trips you up hard. It's a big, open, I'm-happy-to-see-you hug, one that she throws all her weight in to. She's warm, and you suddenly can see only her, smell only her, feel only her. After the months where you tried so hard to hold on to the memory, then the ones that you tried so hard to forget, the real thing is so much stronger than anything left in your head.

"I, uh ... I." You stumble, catching her and floundering over how best to explain spending 20 hours and over $200 just to give her her sweater. You instinctively hug back, politely at first, but as the scent catches, it becomes earnest. You breath deeply, trying not to sound like you're sniffing like the creep you feel like right now. She smells like the scent of her perfume and of her skin and of her conditioner. It's a combination that you're pretty sure you will always associate with a sense of /home./

You laugh a weak, nervous laugh. She's still hugging you tightly, but you can see the person she was talking with staring, so you try to pull back. It's harder than you thought.

"So, um, I uh ..."

Finally she let's go and you can pull back to look at her face. Her eyes are full of confusion, but everything about her radiates this happiness that you don't know you'll ever forget. You can't help but notice that her makeup is a little different, and her hair comes down into her eyes more than you remember.

"Heh-heh," you laugh, and you're more nervous now than you were in the car. "This is so lame, Margaret," you admit, watching her confusion grow, "but ..."

You sigh. You hands are still on her hips, and hers are still around your back, and you suddenly hyper-aware of everywhere you two are touching.

"But?" she asks.

You laugh again, and hate the sound of it. It makes you wince, but you hope that somehow she didn't notice. "I uh. I found one of your sweaters in my laundry. And instead of, you know, just mailing it to you like a normal person..." you trail, trying to get a laugh. She humors you with a smile. "I drove out here to give it to you."

You look down at her face, and you don't even realize what you're doing until you see your hand brushing her long bangs aside and hooking them behind her ear. She doesn't seem to notice or care, but she does let out a nervous little laugh of her own. "You're right Mordecai. That is pretty lame."

You laugh again, but this time with more mirth and maybe even joy. "Yeahhh, I know, I know. But, if I'm being honest, I just wanted an excuse to see you."

Her smile turns immediately shy, and you love the way she looks at you through her lashes. You almost catch yourself going in for a kiss, like you might have done six months if you had held her like this and said some funny, sappy line like that. But you remember that there are six long months between then and now.

"Hey Margaret. You, uh, need a minute?"

"Oh!" She lets go of you, and you miss her instantly. The spot on your back where her hands had fit so nicely is suddenly cold and empty. "Sorry, guys, this is, uh, Mordecai." She takes a step back, ducking her head, and gesturing to you sheepishly. "We, um, dated for a while, back before I came to Milton."

"Mordecai?" One girl asks before you can even say hi. Her tone is full of something, something almost accusatory, but not quite. You're not really sure what.

"Yeah, uh, hi," you wave. Oh god. Why are you so lame.

"He just surprised me with a visit." Margaret volunteers, obviously a little uncertain.

"Well, um, we do have class in 10 minutes," the guy she had just been talking to before she noticed you says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to point to a building behind him.

"Oh, you do?!" you ask hurriedly. God, of course she has class, that's why she left! What were you thinking, that she would just be able to, what, leave with you and go back? Gah, you're so stupid some times! "Uh, well, lemme just grab-"

"No, no, it's fine!" she assures you, a little flustered herself, and you're not quite sure what she's trying to tell you is fine until she calls back to the group, "You guys go on to class and I'll catch up!"

The group looks slightly hesitant, but still move on quickly with a murmured chorus of _okays_  and _see you laters_.

The guy is the last one to move, just a fraction of a second after everyone else. It stirs something in the pit of your belly, but you don't get a chance to reflect on it.

"So, uh, how've you been?"

"Um, good, good." And it's mostly the truth now. "And you?! How's, uh, classes and everything?"

"Good, good. You know. It's tougher, but it's fun at the same time."

"Yeah, yeah, no, I get that. Totally. I see you're making friends! Not that, uh, I thought you wouldn't or anything, because you're a really awesome person, but ..."

She laughs, the same exact laugh that you always loved. "Yeah, I guess. You know it's a little weird, cuz I'm so used to having really close friends. Like, /really/ close like you and Eileen and Rigby, so hanging out with all new people and not having the same inside jokes or, I dunno, having that same level of trust is ... pretty weird, I guess."

She's looking off at one of the building, now, her smile faded just a fraction. But you're not sure what to say, so you just smile in what you hope is a reassuring way when she looks back at you. "Speaking of Rigby, did you drive all this way alone?"

"No! No, no. Rigby came along, but we got in a little fight. So he stayed at the motel."

"Oh no! Why? What happened?"

"Oh, you know. He was just being Rigby. So he got on my nerves."

You both laugh a little at that. But when it dies down you just scratch at your arm. You look back at the direction her friends walked away in. "Um, if you need to go, the sweater's in the car, I can..." You motion to the junky car that you just put a ding into.

"Oh, you know what, I can miss this class, it's okay. We're not doing anything important anyways."

"Oh, no, you should totally go-"

"Really Mordecai, it's fine. I haven't seen you since.. since the airport. If you drove out this whole way, I'd like to spend time with you."

"Really? And it'll be fine if you skip this class?"

" _Really._ Promise. Scout's honor."

"Yeah right, like you were a scout," you say playfully, nudging her shoulder.

She laughs, "Alright alright, so I wasn't a scout. But I do really want to hang out with you."

"Annnnnd...?"

"And I _promise_ that I'm not putting my GPA in harm's way by skipping one class."

You smile as warmly as you can, feeling it spread around inside you at the realization that you're about to spend the day with Margaret. Just like old times. "Alright then! Where do you want to go then? This is your town, now."

"Well, there is this great coffee shop down in the Square..."

"Oooh, the _Square!_ Using fancy college lingo, are we ...?"

 

 

 

She snorts just the smallest bit, which makes both of you laugh even harder, catching the attention of some of the tables around you. Luckily it's just some student burger shop, nothing as fancy as Steak Me Amadeus, so you don't really feel self-conscious about their stares.

It's almost 3pm, and you know that it's getting late, and even though you're probably going to stay another night at the hotel, you should probably let Rigby know you're okay, and make sure he didn't die there by himself. You think he should have been fine with the strip mall right across the street, but he's still going to be pouty when you get back.

The thing is just that you don't want to leave. You both finished your burgers a while ago, the trays still sitting on your table, and since then you've ordered and finished two milkshakes.

"And then, and then, she _sat_ in it! And the best part is that no one had the heart to tell her!! So she- so she just had that pudding on her pants the rest of the day!" Margaret says between fits of laughter. A small bead of water rolls down her cheek, and she wipes at it quickly.

You recover before her, sighing and sitting back. You wipe at your face before you lean back on your elbows. You watch her giggles subside, her whole body shaking with the effort, face flushed and makeup the tiniest but smudged at the corner where she wiped. It makes her look all the more endearing to you.

"I'm really glad I came," you blurt, almost instantly regretting the words.

But she only laughs a little. "Were you afraid you weren't going to be?"

"A little. I mean, I wasn't sure how you were going to react, you know. If you would think I was really weird and a creeper or what."

"Oh, totally, yeah. What a creep." She says, picking up a packet of ketchup and throwing it at you. You dodge easily. "But yeah, I guess that can be a nervous thought. But I'm totally glad you came, too. It's really good to see you."

"You too."

"Hmm," she sighs happily, twirling the straw of her chocolate milkshake. "Although, I have to ask, why didn't you just call, you know?"

"Uhhh, jeez." You say. Your fingers almost on cue scratch at your temple, and you look away. "I guess I was afraid you would say no. Or that I would talk myself out of it somehow if I didn't just leave, you know."

"We're you really that nervous?"

"Yeah," you look back, smiling a little bashfully at her. "I was."

She looks up from her milkshake again, and you both sort of catch each others eyes. Even to you, it sounds a little sappy, but it makes you laugh a little. And quickly look away.

"I missed you a lot you know," she says, quietly and shyly.

"I know. Me too." You admit. "I had a pretty rough time after you first moved out." Oh god, did you really just admit that?? Oh god, you did.

"Me, too. Which I know isn't fair since-"

"No, no, not at-"

"I chose to move away, so-"

"all, really, I'm sure it was harder, you know-"

"I can't really complain, but it was hard-"

"Trying to do it on my(your) own," you both say at the same time. It makes you both chuckle a little.

"Yeah... But I can't imagine, after you pro- ..." She cuts herself off, and you're a little grateful she did.

"Yeah ..." you concede.

The silence is instantly thick and heavy, with memories of a question you never learned the real answer to. You honestly don't know what to say now.

"I, uh. I probably need to go to my next class." Margaret says, staring at the pavement intensely, like it was honestly the most interesting thing nearby. "We have a test next week, and those are always killer since the professor doesn't really go by the book and you have to really take notes ... but ..."

You swallow, and it's a little difficult with the ball of emotion lodged in your throat. This was it. Of course she had to go to class, it's the entire reason she lived 20 hours away. You know that in some small part of your mind that you had honestly hoped that this trip out here would make her want to come home with you, truly believed that seeing you in person would remind her that she was the love of her life and make her want be that person for you again.

But that was crazy. She was taking care of her future, was following her dreams. You weren't really that selfish to want her to give all of that up just for you.

"But I really don't want to go, now," she admits, and you feel bad about the tiny stir of hope that part of you feels. "I really missed this, you know? Just hanging out with my best friend and relaxing."

You bite your lip. You're pretty sure she's asking for your permission to skip, to stay here with you.

"You should go. I don't want to be that bad of an influence on you that it actually affects your grades, you know." You know that this is the right thing to do, to say, to let her go and give her her new life, but even as you say the words, your heart sinks deep into your chest.

You sigh, brushing the loose ends of your hair back, before remembering the not-true reason you came. "Oh, yeah, jeez, I'm parked back around the corner, I can go grab your sweater quick and let you get to class!" you say, forcing the smile you give her to feel as natural as possible.

You know that this trip went as well as it could have, better than you could have sanely hoped for, but that doesn't stop you from feeling disappointment as it inevitably draws to a close, when Margaret, almost sadly, says "Yeah." You think you're seeing sadness in her eyes, your own disappointment mirrored back at you in her features, but you can't really tell what's true and what's just your own wishful thinking now.

She follows you to the car, and you are tempted to lighten the mood, to say something funny or dumb, just to make the walk more bearable, but you're at a complete loss for what to say. It goes by too quickly, the couple of blocks a blur of silence and suddenly you find yourself standing in front of Mitch's car.

The sweater is folded in the back seat, a sad lump of bright pink yarn that Margaret wouldn't even be able to wear for another few months until it got cold again. She probably doesn't even like it all that much if she didn't even notice its absence in six months, but you tell yourself that obviously wasn't the point.

You present it to her with little flourish, a small, tight smile on your face as you lamely say, "Here you go."

"Thanks," she says quietly, looking at the sweater, possibly trying to place which one it was, when she had last worn it.

"Well, I should probably go make sure Rigby didn't destroy the hotel room or burn it down or something," you say, edging back toward the car with a small chuckle. "And you apparently have a class to go to."

"Mordecai, I— Thank you. I mean, really, thank you for coming. I had a great time, and I missed this. I missed you. I'm really glad I got to see you."

"I uh. Me too," you shuffle, rubbing at the back of your head nervously. "I honestly didn't know what to expect coming out here, and I almost ... I mean, I was actually getting ready to just turn around and leave before you saw me. So I'm _really_ glad you saw you me and didn't, you know, freak out. And I'm really glad I came. It was great seeing you."

Margaret surprises you with another hug, big and warm and open and a little tender, pressing her face into your shoulder, sweater hanging limply at your back. It takes you a few seconds to wrap your arms around her and hug back, shoving violently against the thought that this might really be the last time you get the chance to hold her. If it is, you want it to be the best last-hug ever in existence, squeezing her tight against your chest and burrowing your face into her hair, unafraid to breathe in the scent of her shampoo and light perfume and the familiar, homey scent of just _her_ underneath it all. You're going to miss her. You already miss her.

"I don't know if this is ... if this is going to make things better or worse or if it even means anything at this point but," she pulls back, and you lament letting her, holding her at arms length, already losing the warmth she gave you. She looks you in the eye, and you can almost see tears there, despite her smile. Just a glassiness covering her gorgeous brown eyes. You want to kiss her; you wish you could. 

"I ... I would have ... said yes. I would have if I could." 

You feel the air rush out of your lungs like a kick to chest, before it's trapped there, unable to take another breath. You feel your arms tremble with all of the pain and harrowing loneliness, the heartbreak that the last six months have been. It feels so pointless now, crushed under the thoughts of  _what could have been._ What  _should_ have been. 

You take a step back and draw more air in with a shaky breath, and you can see the regret in Margaret's eyes as you put space between you. But no,  _no,_  she shouldn't feel bad. She shouldn't. You have your answer now. You know. No more what-ifs or wondering. You know now where your life would have gone _if only._  It will hurt more, now, knowing, but you're glad for it. 

So you smile, and it feels half genuine. Bittersweet. Melancholic. But it is real and wide and you want kiss her. "Thank you. Thank you for telling me," you tell her with as much sincerity as you can muster. "I ... Margaret, I love you. I still love you. I probably always will, and maybe it's not fair to you to tell you that, but it's true. So I'm really glad to know that, at least at some point, you loved me just as much." 

You step back to her again and wrap your arms around her in a delicate hug, fragile now with the pain of nostalgia for memories that never had a chance to happen, longing for a life that couldn't be. But it needed to happen, you needed to hold her one last time, a good chance that it would actually be the last time, after finally knowing her answer. 

"I ..." she mumbles, before her voice breaks. Your heart is crushed when you realize she's holding back tears. You wonder if she misses the life that she could have had just as much as you. You've had to tell yourself that it was just as unfair on her as it was on you, her leaving you for college. Sometimes you didn't believe it, sometimes you almost hated her for choosing school over you. But you know in your heart that it was unfair that she had to choose. 

"Heyyy, don't cry," you murmur, rubbing her back and easing into a more comfortable embrace, holding her tighter as her shoulders heave with a silent sob, one hand curling into your shirt, the other probably bunching into the knitted sweater, kissing the top of her head gently. "It's okay. You have your dreams to follow. And that means a class to go to, and notes to take, and a test to ace. Because I know you can. You can do this. You're awesome."

She nods, sniffling into your neck, and steps back, wiping at her eyes. She looks aching beautiful, even like this, even with some of her makeup smudged and her eyes red-rimmed, and her face blotchy in that way she hates whenever she cries. She looks beautiful when she smiles. "I still love you, too."

Your breath hitches at her shaky, teary words, and you know that you're probably going cry, too. "I love you, too. I'm going to miss you."

"I miss you," she says, but it's interrupted by a sob and a fresh batch of tears. "I miss you, Mordecai," she croaks out, words so sharply honest that they dig into your chest, stab your heart with a brutal twist and leave it there to bleed. 

You blink away the start of your own tears with a painfully tight smile. You need to leave, to go check on Rigby now, to start the agonizing drive home, or else you'll never be able to. Already the thought of staying, of moving here, of  _making it work_ _,_ is so achingly tempting, that you have to take a step back, then two, then another until you feel the bump of the car against your thigh. It's made a thousand times worse by the knowledge that you know you could do it, you could find a way to make it happen, to make this work, because it's  _you_ and because it's  _Margaret_ , and you would find a way to move the stars for her if you could. 

"I've got to go," you tell the love of your life, softly and regretfully. "I've got to go, and you have to go to class."  _Or else we both might never leave._

"I know," the love of your life tells you, and you just know that she knows how close you both are to staying. 

You make your way around the car without once ever looking away from her tear-stained face. You open the door, but you can't make yourself get in just yet. "You're amazing, and I know you're going to do amazing things that you never could have done if you had stayed," you tell her, knowing every word of it is true. 

"I know," she tells you again. 

You can't think of anything else to say, but you can't bring yourself to look away for her gorgeous face, from the now-running makeup that is just slightly different, to the longer hair that falls in her eyes, to streak of red in her bangs that is growing out dark at the roots like she isn't sure if she wants to dye it again. "I love you."

"I know."

And with that, you force yourself to look away, to get in the car and put the key in the ignition, to put it in drive. It's not until you pull away from the curb that you look at her again in the mirror, standing there surrounded by this new school and this new life, clutching the sweater to her chest. You throw your hand up in a sad, small wave that you know she will see. She raises her own hand to wave goodbye back.


End file.
